Christmas at Baker Street
by HopelessRomanticxox
Summary: Dr John Watson recalls a particular Christmas, one in which Sherlock Holmes was unnaturally happy...


**I know christmas is over and done with now but this idea came into my head and I just had to write it down :)**

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Christmas was a dull affair usually at 221B Baker Street. While outside market traders would sell roasted chestnuts, garlands made of holly and ivy and blooms of mistletoe inside the whole atmosphere was rather different. Mrs Hudson had made an effort, wrapping tinsel round the banisters and hanging over paintings, decorating an elaborate Christmas tree to sit in the family room and whistling merry tunes all day long. The house was continually filled with the warm delicious smell of baking, whether it be gingerbread, mince pies or Christmas cake.

Sherlock's quarters however remained the same as they did all year long. A thick coating of dust layered everything unimportant and his bed lay rumpled and in a constant state of disarray. His appearance, much like his bedding was dishevelled and unwelcoming and in need of a good maintenance. Mrs Hudson had given up her nagging weeks ago and had taken to leaving a tray of food at intervals during the day. Whether it be taken and eaten however was up to Sherlock entirely.

So when Watson appeared at the front door late into a Saturday morning on Christmas eve it was safe to say Mrs Hudson believed a Christmas miracle had occurred.

"Oh Doctor Watson you don't know how thrilled I am to see you." She ushered him in, helping him to take off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks along with his scarf.

"Been his usual self has it Mrs Hudson?" Watson asked with a small smile. While Watson cared for his friend, he really did, Sherlock, as much as he didn't like to admit it, was predictable in most aspects. Such as Christmas for example. It was no surprise that Sherlock didn't like Christmas and every year he would spend longer and longer out of sight, hidden away until the festivities were over. But Watson would be damned if the same thing was going to happen this year.

"I haven't seen him doctor. He's been cooped up in there for the best part of three weeks now. Occasionally you'll hear him shouting at himself or everyone else but you respond and he goes quiet like he doesn't want people to know he's there. I dare to think what state the room is in but I don't have the guts to take a look."

"Let me handle him Mrs Hudson. While I'm in there do you think you could wrap up some gingerbread for Mary? She's been craving them all morning and I promised I'd bring her some."

"Of course doctor Watson." She smiled, a little more relaxed now the doctor had arrived.

"And bring some tea up when you're ready. I doubt he's drunk much more than alcohol and various medical supplies." She nodded and busied herself while Watson started up the stairs.

Mrs Hudson had right to be scared of entering Sherlock's door. The room was almost completely in darkness and if it wasn't for the rustling of paper Watson would never have spotted his friend.

"Good morning Watson." Came the rough greeting of a man who had smoked far too much in a confined space.

"It is Sherlock, but how you can tell in this mess is beyond me." Watson strode towards the window, coughing at the amount of smoke that had piled into the room.

"Be gent-WATSON!" Sherlock had let out a yell as Watson pulled the curtains back, releasing daylight into the room. As he opened the windows to let the air in he couldn't help but chuckle at his friend, who was now covering himself with the newspaper in the hope it would bring back the darkness.

Once all the windows had been opened and the smoke had cleared Watson sat down in the armchair opposite Holmes. Mrs Hudson had brought up tea and he now proceeded to pour it into the two available china tea cups.

"Nanny made this?" Holmes asked sulkily. Watson nodded and watched as Sherlock sniffed the teapot, the cup and the drink before taking a sip, swishing it and spitting it onto the tray. Disgusted, Watson mopped up the liquid with the cloth nearby.

"How many times do you need to be reminded that Mrs Hudson is not going to poison you." He chided, rather like he was talking to a child. Sherlock scowled at him, but drank the tea without any more complaints.

While Sherlock helped himself to another cup and finally started eating Watson took a moment to glance around the sitting/sleeping/office room he now found himself in. It appeared that Sherlock had been living out of the two rooms, this and the bathroom. However he didn't appear to have a decent shave in a while and the stubble on his chin was darker and thicker than usual.

"You're going to have to clean yourself up you know." Watson told him. Sherlock glanced up briefly before returning to a bit of paper settled on his knee.

"Why?"

"We're going out."

"Outside?" Watson fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, outside."

"Can't."

"Why ever not?"

"Busy."

"Busy?"

"Yes." Watson looked pointedly at his friend. Despite their closeness Sherlock appeared to know exactly what strings to pull to drive the doctor mad.

"You are not busy, you have been sat wallowing in your own self-pity for the past three weeks and everyone has had enough." John Watson knew exactly why Sherlock had locked himself away and knew that despite his claims over it being Christmas and no new cases there was another, more pressing reason. This was justified by the evidence sitting to the right of Sherlock. While everything in the room had gathered a neat layering of dust the object in question was clean and shined like new. Despite it being pointed away from Watson he knew what it was. An ornate picture frame with a colour photograph of Ms Irene Adler.

It had been nearing on six months since either of them had last seen or heard from Ms Adler. When Moriarty had handed over the handkerchief and Sherlock had become a shadow of himself. Having no confirmation other than the spots of blood and her sudden disappearance Holmes had thrown himself into trying to work out what had happened. Every report, article he could get his hands on had been read dozens of times in the hope something would jump out at him. Every letter he received was re-read over and over again but nothing. Before he had confined himself to his room Sherlock had attended every major event in London, anything expensive, any jewel on display and he would be there, scouring the room in what he called, observation and what Watson called desperation. Watson did feel sorry for his friend. Though he would refuse to admit it when asked it was clear that Sherlock did harbour feelings for the young woman and she returned them. Six months later and it was clear by the way the mail was still being checked that Sherlock hadn't given up entirely, but the outings had stopped completely, Holmes was finally beginning to realise that maybe Moriarty had taken her away from life after all.

The cold winter's air sent goose-bumps across the skin of both gentlemen as they strolled through the park. It had taken some bargaining but Watson had finally succeeded in getting Sherlock to come outside, by threatening to allow Mrs Hudson to be let loose with a duster if he didn't. This worked surprisingly quickly. The leafless foliage swayed in the wind and a gentle dusting of snow had covered the grass in a way that looked straight off of a Christmas card.

"Say what you like about Christmas old boy but you can't help but see it as beautiful." Watson commented as his cane left neat marks in the snow. The footprints of others sprinkled the ground, darting this way and that as people had come and gone. This left the ground rather more icy than Watson would have liked, especially with his dodgy knee and so he had come to relying on his cane a great deal more as of late.

"It's not Christmas that makes for beautiful scenery,' Sherlock stated, 'but rather the season it occurs in. Without Christmas we'd still have the cold weather and snow but no decorations and singing and presents."

"Are you saying you don't want presents Sherlock? Gifts you want but can't be bothered to buy so someone else gets them for you? Right up your street usually." Watson smirked at the darkened glare he'd received.

"Mary will be cooking her usual Christmas dinner I take it?" He changed the subject slightly.

"As I say every year Holmes you're more than welcome to join us."

"Can't I'm-"

"Busy yes of course." This time Watson didn't hold back and rolled his eyes at Sherlock's predictable response.

"I was going to say spending Christmas with Mrs Hudson but whatever."

"Poor Mrs Hudson. Well maybe we could all have Christmas at Baker street? I know it would be great relief for Mary, especially now as she's nearly eight months." Sherlock looked at Watson in utter bewilderment and the latter sighed.

"Sherlock you've heard me telling you she was pregnant. Though it wouldn't surprise me if you weren't listening, it is after all another woman that's on your mind." Watson had touched a nerve and he could see it in Sherlock's eyes.

"Christmas, Baker street yes. Must be off." Sherlock turned on his heel and left, leaving Watson standing and watching.

"Holmes?!"

"Busy!" Was the grumpy retort as he disappeared from sight.

"Well someone had to say it." Watson declared to himself before continuing the walk through the park alone.

"He's had his moments yes and they can go on for months sometimes but this is really taking it too far." Watson sighed as he set his glass of whisky on the side and wrapped his arm around Mary. When his hand was free from glass it gently rubbed circles against the baby bump, smiling in delight when he felt the baby kick against his hand.

"You know him better than anyone John, darling, you've told me time and time again that he'll come around. It's just a waiting game." Mary snuggled against her husband and he kissed her forehead gently, pulling the blankets up over her and making her comfortable.

"I know, it just doesn't seem right him sulking alone."

"Well, look I know he takes great pleasure in moaning about Christmas and spending extra time with people for the sole purpose of having fun but maybe a Christmas together is just what the man needs. Take his mind off everything."

"I do hope you're right my love." With no more spoken between them Watson kissed his wife and then bump before bedding down for the night.

Watson's words had been playing on his mind all evening. After returning home to Baker street and storming away from Mrs Hudson who had been protesting that he should eat something before going to sleep Sherlock had made the rather rash decision to finally give up.

Lighting the fireplace, letter after letter, news articles, essential information that no longer seemed relevant, everything was tossed into the crackling orange flames. Grabbing the picture frame from the table he pulled the photograph out and readied himself to launch it. But as he did he looked at the photo and his angry darkened eyes found her soft brown ones. It was a picture, she wasn't even looking directly at him but it was all it took to calm him down and thank her for stopping him. He knew that he'd have only woken in the morning to regret everything.

It was not like Sherlock Holmes to express any sort of emotion at all, in fact Watson had long believed that other than anger Holmes had no feelings. But Irene Adler was the one variable that could change everything about him in a heartbeat. And so now here he was, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, clutching the one thing that kept him close to her. He wouldn't allow himself to shed a tear but it was all he felt like doing. The sadness and expression of such emotions made him want to be angry and without thinking he grabbed the photo frame again and tossed it at the wall. Gasping only a little too late when he noticed the window Watson had opened earlier that morning and how the photo frame was now sailing out of it. Running to the window Sherlock could only watch as it fell to the ground, a couple of bystanders jumping back as they heard it reach the ground.

Slamming the window shut Sherlock picked up the photograph from the floor and pulled back his painting, enclosing the picture in his safe, where it couldn't be found. He no longer had any way of displaying the picture. With that Sherlock Holmes decided it was finally time he washed, shaved and got a good night's sleep. It was Christmas after all.

In the early hours of Christmas morning Sherlock stirred from his sleep to the sound of faint movement. Had he been a child the noise could have been mistaken for father Christmas but he was no child and knew the sound could only mean intruder. Slipping out from under the blankets Sherlock made no sound as he crossed the carpeted floor of his bedroom and out into the living area. Nothing seemed to have been changed, taken or moved. There was no signs of a break in, nor were there signs of someone present. Immediately Sherlock headed to the safe, unlocking it and searching the inside. Something was missing.

The photograph.

That was when Sherlock's other senses appeared to wake up. The faint yet unmistakeably painful aroma reached his flared nostrils…Parisian perfume.

Impossible.

But Sherlock had long since realised nothing was impossible when it came to that woman, **the **woman. One thing was for certain however, she was no longer here. Brushing back a single curtain he looked out into the moonlit streets. They were empty, not a single soul in sight. No signs of a particular young female either.

Returning to the bedroom the scent was a little stronger but he knew she wasn't around. This had been the last room she'd visited he noticed though and climbing back into bed his elbow contacted something cool. Pulling back the blankets the photo frame he had tossed out the window sat in the bed, photograph inside once more. Taking it out, Holmes noticed the familiar handwriting of Ms Adler sketched onto the back;

'_Merry Christmas Sherlock, you need to be more careful with your belongings. I will see you soon, I promise.'_

A small smile crept onto Sherlock's face. He couldn't hide it, nor did he want too. Returning to sleep was easier in the promise he would see her again soon and the evidence that Irene Adler was not dead.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Hudson tell me is our friend awake or has he decided to sleep through Christmas this year?" Watson's jolly tones could be heard downstairs.

"I am awake don't you worry, nanny I want gingerbread." Mrs Hudson almost choked on her tea as she smiled warmly and shouted that it would be ready in minutes. Mary, Watson and Mycroft who had been invited by John all headed upstairs, arms laden with presents for everyone that would be shared out in due course.

The trio's jaws practically hit the floor when they entered Sherlock's room. Gone was the mountains of paper strewn across the floor and the random half empty bottles of medical liquids and in its place was Christmas. Stockings hung from the fireplace, decorations adorned the walls and holly and ivy sat dotted about the room.

"Sorry, it would appear we have the wrong building." Watson commented in mock tease as they slowly entered the room, braced for a potential trap or surprise that was bound to turn up sooner or later.

"Our little conversation and some revealing information yesterday had me come to the conclusion that Christmas was not a time for sulking but a time for family, friends and presents. Now my photo frame has a large crack across the centre so I'm in need of a new one." Watson glanced at him in confusion.

"Gifts I need but cannot be bothered to buy?"

"You didn't need a photo frame yesterday?"

"Things…happened." He refused to speak anymore on the subject as Mycroft stepped across the threshold and handed him a present.

"Mykie."

"Sherley."

Their exchange of pleasantries were cut off as the smell of freshly baked gingerbread filled the room, brought on a tray by Mrs Hudson who had a small bag of presents tucked under her other arm.

"Holmes have you been ingesting more medicines?"

"No."

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Random concoctions you've created yourself?"

"No.

"Then why in God's name are you so unnaturally happy?"

"Let's just say a Christmas miracle."

The festivities lasted well into the afternoon with the exchanging of presents and Mrs Hudson and Mary cooking Christmas lunch together while the boys took the chance to have a cigar. The snow had started falling again outside and the group headed outside to watch. Watson watched as Sherlock actually appeared to be enjoying himself. He hadn't yet figured what was making the man so different compared to yesterday but whatever it was long may it continue. Holmes had even commented on how pregnancy was making Mary glow, how Mrs Hudson's cooking was delicious and even thanked Mycroft for his present. Somehow Sherlock had managed to buy presents for everyone also, a new pouch of cigars for Watson, a necklace for Mary, a silver cake stand for Mrs Hudson and a pair of cufflinks for Mycroft. Another present sat under the Christmas tree but upon being asked Sherlock had pocketed the present and said nothing.

As dinner finished and the evening chatter began Sherlock headed to the window for another cigar. He was aware that Watson was watching him from seeing the reflection of his friend in the window but eventually John turned away as he was brought into the conversation by his wife. Before Sherlock had a chance to light the cigar an intoxicating scent of vanilla and jasmine sailed up to the window and looking out Sherlock saw the unmistakable sight of a woman, half in the shadows, waiting.

"I'm going for some fresh air." He declared to the others.

"Are you alright old boy?" Watson's look had a glimmer of worry about it.

"Absolutely fine just need to take a walk. Stay, enjoy the conversation. I won't be long."

Stepping out into the snow once more the female figure had vanished. The perfumed air remained though and Sherlock spotted the alleyway near the house and headed down. There she was.

Irene Adler stood in the shadows wearing a deep red fitted dress and matching coat. Her chestnut locks curled around her shoulders and down her back and her ruby red lips parted into a smile as he approached.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock." She said, her lilted new jersey accent warming him. It was a sound he had missed.

"Merry Christmas Irene." The two looked at one another before each putting a hand in their coats and revealed a small wrapped gift. Swapping Sherlock allowed Irene to go first. She opened it tentatively, the area of trust still thick in fog between the pair of them but once she'd confirmed it was nothing dangerous she opened with a little more haste.

"Oh it's beautiful." Came her barely audible response as she opened the velvet box to reveal a sapphire necklace, one rather like something she'd normally have to steal in order to possess. With no words Sherlock took the jewellery from her and placed it round her neck, embracing her scent and their closeness as he did so. A small smile crossed her face as she felt his hands brush her hair to one side and his fingers settle on the skin of her neck as he closed the clasp. She turned and he remained where he was, their closeness making the pair of them forget the outside world.

"Your turn." She smiled and watched as he opened the present, his thin fingers making light work of the neatly put bow and wrapping. Inside was another box, much like the one he had presented to Irene and he couldn't help but chuckle as he opened the lid to find a new photo frame, much like the one he possessed only this with a gold filigree edge and his name etched into the silver.

"I heard yours got broken." She smiled and he pocketed the frame, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you my dear." His voice was quiet, unheard by anyone who may have been listening in but with their close proximity she heard every word.

"It's been too long Sherlock." She looked guilty at her comment, a look of disappointment and sadness crossing her face, her eyes watery as they reflected his gaze. Sherlock lifted his hand to cup her cheek and look at her properly.

"It wasn't your fault. And while it was a long time it only makes these moments more special." He sounded a sentimental old fool but that wasn't even crossing his mind right now. For the past six months Sherlock Holmes had believed Irene Adler to be dead and he had just about given up all hope of seeing her again. But now that he had her in sight and in hand he never wanted to let her go again, never wanted her to leave. After suffering without her for so long Sherlock Holmes now knew something he had never wanted to admit.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"Don't dwell on the past darling, I'm just glad you are here now."

It had been a shared look, a small smile and a close hug to start with but neither Irene nor Sherlock knew who started what followed. Their lips pressed in a gentle, soft embrace something rather unlike the pair of them. Through their constant fighting and need to best one another their kiss was something they shared rather than dominated and to this day they will argue over who started it.

Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes will never ever admit it but they are together. Yes she still disappears from time to time and wherever she ends of priceless jewels always end up missing but she will always return to Sherlock and he will wait for her. He has a new file now, one in which he keeps her letters, they remain in contact and one in which he keeps everything that suggests Irene Adler.

The photo frame has a new picture in it now, not one of Irene but one of the pair of them, together, happy.

It had been almost two years and I am sitting here, writing this with the sole intention that when she's old enough I will tell Grace, my daughter exactly how her aunt Irene and uncle Sherlock came to be. They will deny it but I know the truth.

Till the next time,

Dr John Watson, his wife Mary and their beautiful daughter Grace.

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**What did you think?**


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